Superstars
by Ten-Faced
Summary: Story Collection. All Piko/Miki, but some others at the side. - Transcending Lives. Even if the world must die, I'd still choose to free you.
1. Myths and Legends

**1.** Myths and Legends

**Summary:** This is the story of the love god who fell in love with a mortal princess.

**Theme used:** the myth of Eros and Psyche.

**A/N:** This guy was supposed to be a oneshot . . . guess who decided that she didn't like writer's block when she couldn't finish this fic (this was started like eight months ago) but had an idea for a compilation fic? This was supposed to be like 'times of once', only it wasn't so vague and dream-like. It also refused to behave, which is why it has to share a story instead of going solo. I might continue this story later in this fic if people like it enough.

**Posted:** 22/02/2013

**Word Count by Microsoft:** 7,580

**Disclaimer that will not be seen again because once is enough:** Nothing.

* * *

If the guards of the palace had been paying attention they might have stopped whatever they were doing, stared and rubbed their eyes, trying to clear their sight in disbelief. After all, the men assigned for the night palace watch didn't often see a young boy with wings walking around the royal palace like he owned the place.

As it was, the guards couldn't see anything. Not that they were blind, because that may have been against the general idea of being a guard who was supposed to _look out_ for any potential dangers to the royal family. It was just that the boy was a god, and gods in general were good at not being seen when it suited their interests. Queen Mizki of the Heavens would often sneak into a few households to either bless or curse the families. Huntress Rin visited the dreams of young maidens to give them courage and compassion. Reaper Rei was visible only in the eyes of the dying, not the living that nursed the sick.

The young boy wasn't any of these gods. Utatane Piko was the god of love. His appearance was a silver-haired child, around ten-years old or so, who carried around a miniature golden bow with a platinum quiver strapped in between his snow-white dove wings that sprouted out his back, the total effect resulting in a cherubic archer angel with one green eye and one blue eye and a mischievous smile.

His job was to shoot the mortals with his arrows, either gold or lead, to make them fall in love or hate with the first person they would have the fortune (or, in some cases, misfortune) to lay their eyes upon. Somehow the job gave him more respect than he had ever imagined. He didn't mind the respect – enjoyed it, actually. It not only gave him considerable status amongst immortals and mortals, but also a decent paying job.

Currently he was on a mission to make sure that a mortal princess would fall in love with some hideous thing or another. Honestly, favors like this were actually quite common for him. Every now and then some mortal would annoy a god and the gods, temperamental as they were would extract revenge, often by humiliating the poor human with unexplainable infatuation with a laughable partner. It was either that or smiting them down with divine powers. More often than not they just turned to him.

Piko had no qualms with that. He was well-paid, and his reputation grew. It was a win-win situation for all except the human and if the mortal had been foolish enough to annoy a powerful immortal deity then Piko was fairly sure that he or she would have been killed off later due to their senselessness. At least his arrows would let them live and give them a chance to repent later while finding love within someone.

He reached into the pouch hanging from his belt, searching for the piece of parchment where the order was written. Reading the elegant curves of the letters ordering the divine punishment the child-like god let out a low whistle. "A _lifetime_ of this?" he whistled again through the gaps between the small pearly teeth in his mouth. "Damn. That must have been some insult."

Piko reached behind again, this time his arm going over his shoulder to his quiver. For that length of time, no mere arrow would do, at least not by itself. He would need the golden arrow made of the purest essence of love that dripped from the swaying branches of the willow tree he had been born from. Such an arrow could make even the Primordial Forces, Creator of the Gods fall in love with any_thing_ and any_one_, and only formed once every decade.

"I'm charging Lady Nekomura triple the price for using this baby," he muttered, drawing his bow with the love-inducing arrow that could only be neutralized out by the lead arrow cast from the purest essence of hate. He had used that the last time which meant that for nearly ten years, no one was going to be hating someone else that strongly because of him.

Now that he was ready Piko could pay more attention to his surroundings other than the bare minimum amount required. It was a pretty nice palace (nothing compared to his own divine estates, of course) but still a high-standard place for mortals. White marble arches and pillars, fresh blossoming flowers everywhere, with tapestries showing off the royal family and the gods. Someone in the family – the queen maybe – respected the gods enough to have their images in the house. By now the mortals knew this meant the eyes of the gods could be very well upon them through those representations, but obviously they thought they had nothing to hide from divine eyes.

Piko paused at one particular bolt of cloth hanging from the walls. It was more of a group portrait picturing all of the well-known gods, clearly woven by a very skilled weaver who had accurate knowledge of the gods. "But I appear too young," he muttered aloud, and snapped his fingers, changing the five-year old boy woven into the tapestries into a more accurate age of his appearance. "Much better."

Satisfied, he made his way back again, passing by the guards who were still unaware of the invisible god in their presence. Briefly Piko considered causing mischief for the lazy men, but thought better of it. Business before pleasure was his rule despite his career choice. Perhaps next time, when he had nothing to do.

The magic inside of him tugged, a strange feeling – an instinct, so to say – in his chest area that lead him to the inner courts where the decorations were distinctively feminine compared to the outer courts he had just been in. Slowly, he stepped past the late-working servants and patrolling guards, following his growing gut feeling to the mortal he was assigned to punish.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred corridors – typical mortals, going by the 'bigger the better' rules – the god of love found himself standing in front of a large pair of double doors, firmly closed.

"The princess?" Piko raised an eyebrow. A member of the royal family annoying a goddess. That was odd. And stupid.

Shrugging, he slipped inside the chamber, wanting to get this over with so he could go and see the new play the mortals were dedicating to him. His eyes focused in the darkness automatically, divine magic allowing him to see all the details as if the sun was in the middle of the sky, shining down fiercely on everything.

A large bed rested in the middle of the room, veiled by several sheets of thinly woven cloth tinted with various shades of cool colours. Assuming that was where his target was, Piko cautiously stepped aside some of the fragile ornaments, making his way to the sleeping woman.

"Stupid things," he grunted as the last of the obstacles lay behind him. "Useless, and breaks too easily," just why women thought having vases and glass orbs hanging around everywhere was a great idea, he didn't know.

The girl in her dreams stirred a little, murmuring some nonsense about cherries or something. Piko paused, and then carefully drew the veils surrounding her sleeping form, fully intending to shoot her with the arrow that would leave no physical marks upon her body, but plenty on her emotional life.

The golden arrow was never shot out of his bow. Instead, the symbols of his power slipped out of his suddenly-numb hands as his mismatched eyes widened in surprise, a sudden draw of air leaving a loud gasp that tore through the silence like a knife.

Piko had seen a lot of beautiful women in his life. _Most_ of his godly life had been spent around gorgeous women who happened to be powerful and immortal, and he was all too used to seeing beauty of the divine kind.

This . . . this maiden was another story. She had luscious red hair framing her delicate pale skin, a face that could only be described as 'otherworldly', and yet she was nothing like the actually otherworldly goddesses he had become accustomed to seeing daily. Nor was she like the nymphs and spirits that were always around him with their ageless appearances. There was something about her that was mortal, fragile, limited, and that made her even more stunning, the delicate mortality of this girl's beauty.

A pain shot through his foot, and Piko snapped out of his thoughts as he looked down at the arrow that had slipped throughout his fingers to pierce the leather strap of his sandal. The pain meant that the arrow was _p__iercing his skin_.

Green-and-blue eyes widened in horror. "No!" he gasped aloud without thinking. Even _he_ didn't have immunity to his arrows, and especially not this one.

The girl stirred. "Mmrgh?"

Luck was not on his side that night. The sound the waking maiden had made had automatically drawn his eyes up to her face, slowly coming to consciousness at the noise he had made.

For the first time since his birth at the beginning of the Divine Gardens, the god of love found himself in love.

* * *

Love was a strange feeling. His chest tightened, burning with a foreign substance unfamiliar to him as his face flushed for no particular reason at all. Piko found himself drawn to the mortal, wanting to hold her in his arms.

It came to his distracted, burning mind that his arms were too small. Too childish.

Tonight was a night of many firsts. Piko had always been satisfied with his deceiving appearance of a young child, but in this stirring maiden's presence, he wished to be seen as an equal, as a partner, not some child, a young brat that would annoy her.

His body responded to his wish, growing and muscling until he was, in physical age, twenty years old. The wings followed suit, lengthening and strengthening until they were large wings with a span of fifteen feet or so, shaped as a predator's wings rather than a gentle dove's.

The redheaded maiden, upon waking, was met with a silver-winged warrior from the heavens, watching her with a gentle but sorrowful expression.

* * *

"Hah!" ruby eyes widening to the size of saucers, Miki gathered the bed sheets around her body, crawling backwards and trying to put distance between her and the stranger somehow in her rooms. "Who are you?" she demanded, shocked and irritated at how this man would have gotten past the guards.

_Someone_ was going to get thrown in the dungeons and for once she wouldn't be begging her father to be merciful.

The man only smiled, running a hand through his silver hair. "I don't think you would believe me," Miki paused, somewhat reassured by the deep, calming voice of his. The calm didn't last long. It rarely seemed to for her when a silver haired man with mismatched eyes and wings on his back was in your room, watching you sleep. She tried to ignore the voice at the back of her head adding in its own opinions on how lean and muscular this man was, as well as how finely chiseled his facial features happened to be.

Miki hated being seventeen sometimes.

The man stood, waiting for her response. Tired and cranky, she decided to give him her response. "Yes, well, you're in my bedroom and you have wings. _Wings_!" Miki waved her arms around for emphasis. "Either I'm hallucinating or you're special, and," Miki pinched her arms, letting a sharp pain be felt on her skin. "Ow! No, this is real. Are you an angel?"

"You could say that," he agreed. Which most likely meant that he wasn't. She knew the talk of the advocates, having been taught by her mother (the woman that could barter the last piece of bread from a beggar if she chose to). Miki was annoyed. This guy was side-stepping all of her questions, and the only thing she knew about him was how good-looking he was!

"Look," she began, annoyed. "I don't know who you are, but you can't be here!"

"And you're right," nodding, the angel-man stood up, towering over her from where she was hunched up on the bed. "I really should leave."

"Without answering me?" she demanded, using the 'princess voice' without meaning to.

Something flickered in his oddly-coloured eyes. Regret? Pity? "I'm sorry," he apologized suddenly.

"For wh-" The last thing Miki saw was a large hand reaching towards her eyes, and then everything faded.

* * *

The princess fell asleep instantly, the magic inside his blood overwhelming her senses and forcing her back to slumber. Sighing, Piko picked up the bow, now a deadly golden longbow matching the rest of him, and slung the weapon onto his back.

He had messed up. Badly. Very, _very_ badly.

The right thing to do would have been erasing her memories, and then never going near her again. That was what the laws dictated, and that was what would be expected by Lord Yuma.

The rules that were ignored by everyone else on a regular basis, a part of his mind argued. The king that liked to break his own rules for fun.

In the end, the two conflicting sides of Piko came to a compromise. He would leave everything as it was. Maintain status quo. Simple.

Opening a window, he spread his wings, marvelling at how differently the larger set felt and flew to the Divine Gardens that rested in the heavens. Before he flew out of sight of the palace, he sent a wave of magic back to fix that tapestry just a bit more.

One last glance given, the mismatched eyes faced towards the skies, and the wings flapped on a gust of the wind sent by the Keeper of the Western Wind, boosting his speed. He sent a silent thanks to Kasane Ted before entering the gates of heaven.

"Halt!" barked the guard. Piko suppressed a sigh. "Who goes there?"

"Who do you think, stupid?" he sneered. How many gods of love did these idiots see flying around?

The man paused. "I do not recognize your voice, stranger, but your presence is surely that of a god's. Who are you?"

About to answer back with a sarcastic remark, Piko glanced down at his feet and was abruptly reminded of his new transformation. "It's Piko," he called back wearily, just beginning to imagine the flood of rumours that would start at his change of appearance. Yet, he did not want to become his younger self again. "God of Love."

The man paused again. "Lord Utatane?" he replied back at last. "I beg forgiveness; this humble servant has failed to recognize you."

Translation; _Please_ don't make me fall in love with a warthog, or something just as bad.

"Just let me in," Piko grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"As you wish, sir," the gates opened, and Piko stepped into the light that always filled the Divine Gardens, instantly refreshing him through the ancient magic that had created all immortal deities.

It failed to erase the image of large, ruby eyes from his mind. Growling, Piko launched himself into the air and flew towards his palace in the east, ignoring the literal gossip about him flying around.

"Move!" he snarled at one of the messenger fairies, and the tiny fey fell, gasping in fear. He ignored the small being, and let his wings release their new-found power and speed, streaking straight into the balcony of his own palace.

Letting the feathered mass of muscles flap once to slow down, Piko righted himself and landed easily on the sleek marble floor. "I'm home!" he called.

No one answered, and the love god dragged himself off to bed, that specific shade of crimson belonging to the girl haunting him.

"Gah!" he punched the wall, and slammed the door to his chamber shut in anger. Or frustration. He didn't feel like dissecting his emotions at the current state.

Depressed, he decided to smother the feelings in slumber, and lay in bed, closing his eyes with a sigh.

* * *

It was, by far, the strangest year the palace of Midori had ever seen. First, their princess had been asleep for three whole days, reacting to nothing and thought to be almost dead in the way that she was so still. Even after she woke, Princess Miki was not herself, always zoning out or screaming at the sight of the large tapestry that hung from the wall, the one depicting the gods in their splendor. King Kiyoteru and Queen Meiko worried for their daughter, but a bigger problem was coming up.

Miki was a rare beauty, her fiery hair and shining eyes glowing against the pale contrast of her skin. No one could or would deny that. However, despite her extreme popularity with the general male population, there was a problem. No one had asked for her hand in marriage.

It was actually quite odd. One moment, the current young man would be smiling and friendly, looking as if he was ready to ask for her hand in marriage, and the next, he would turn a strange, sick colour, and ask to leave to his home immediately.

This was bad. Already she was seventeen, closer to eighteen, and other girls her age were married and having their first or second children at the least!

"This is ridiculous," ground out Hiyama Kiyoteru after the fifth suitor left in this manner. "Absolutely ridiculous."

His wife looked worried, about both her husband's temper and her daughter's single status. "Perhaps we should consult the Oracle?"

The king looked pained, having less-than pleasant memories at the mention of the mystical seer of the Gods, but agreed, seeing no other way to find a possible solution to their dilemma.

Miki was just as enthusiastic at the idea as her father, but she, too, understood how important this was. So the royal family travelled to the temple of Kagamine Len, and waited for the verdict of the Oracle. Or rather, the Oracle herself, as the seer was taking a rather long time to come out.

Instead of sitting around doing nothing, Miki wandered around the temple, marvelling at the magnificent artwork on the walls depicting the brave deeds of the gods and the heroes of past times.

So concentrated on the mosaics, she didn't notice where she was walking until she accidently walked straight into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, apologizing to the young man with golden hair.

The blond man didn't say anything; instead, he searched her face with bright, piercing blue eyes, ones that reminded her of the sky on a bright, clear day when the sun shone with extra heat and light. They felt similar to the eyes of the silver-haired man's, with the same intensity and power.

"It's fine," he muttered at last, breaking the hold his eyes seemed to have, and turned away into a dark corridor.

Miki considered following, but some part of her told her that as a princess, she really shouldn't be near a strange man she didn't know without some sort of a chaperone watching over them.

"Princess?"

She whirled around to see a woman in a simple black dress, her veil covering most of her short green hair. "I am the Oracle," she spoke quietly, but Miki could feel the power, the authority in her deceivingly soft voice. "Follow me, please."

The Oracle led the way down the marble halls until the white stone was replaced with a cave lit by burning torches, and then to a round room, where a stool with three legs sat among green fire and smoke rising from the cracks in the ground. At the entrance to the cavern stood a young girl in apprentice priestess clothing with writing materials in her arms, ready to record the answers given by the Oracle.

The Oracle lifted a hand, silently telling Miki to stay where she stood next to the girl while the seer continued to go on until she reached her metal seat. Sitting among the strange-scented fumes, she lifted her head to let her green eyes meet Miki's.

"Would you like to ask a question? And remember," she added. "You may only ask one question per year."

Of course, she wanted to know the identity of the silver-haired man with the wings first, but the proper thing would be to ask just why she couldn't quite get married. That man's identity could be learned later.

"Why can't I get married?"

The fumes began to swirl and gather around the girl, until she was nothing but a human-shaped shadow in the gray smoke surrounding her.

_You_, a hissing voice ran through the cavern, and the only other thing Miki could hear was the sound of a pen scratching away and her own heartbeat, pounding like crazy. _Are not meant for a man of ordinary birth_. _Your husband will be he who resides on the mountain to the south that bears nothing in its soils_. _Denying your fate will lead your country to ruin of the kind that is worst._ _Do not fail your people, your sire and dame, and your waiting lover._ _Do not fail the will of the gods.*_

The smoke was quickly absorbed back into the cracks through the ground, and the Oracle, leaning forward in her seat, jerked up, revealing drowsy eyes.

As the girl gave the written prophecy to her, and escorted her back to the world where the sun shone down on all, Miki stared blankly ahead. She'd just been engaged to someone the gods had declared for her.

And she did not like this. Not one bit.

* * *

"I don't care if he's busy! Tell him to let me in!"

Piko glanced up from his seat in his private garden, partly curious about the deep, feminine voice that was familiar to him. "Luna," he called quietly.

One of his spirit servants, in the guise of a white rabbit, hopped up to him and bowed as deeply as the small animal vessel she possessed would allow her to. "Yes, milord?"

"Allow Lady Nekomura in," he ordered, going back to staring at the small pool at his side.

The rabbit murmured something in response, and hastily hopped away. Soon, he felt a powerful, thundering force come towards him, something akin to vengeance and anger radiating off the deity.

He merely plucked a petal from the spring, idly playing with the red flower's detachment.

"Utatane Piko!" thundered the Goddess of Felines, and then there was silence, tense with shock.

Piko looked up, letting the faintest smiles grace his lips. He knew from her wide, golden eyes and hanging mouth that the sight of him, always a young child, as a fully-grown man surprised her, as much as it did to everyone who had seen him like this. Even if they had heard the rumours, hearing it and seeing it were two completely different things altogether. "Yes, Lady Nekomura?" he inquired politely.

That small snarky comment snapped her out of her shock. "I'll question you on your change of appearance later," she decided aloud. He raised an eyebrow, but nodded at her to continue. "Why has the girl not fallen in love with some hideous creature like I requested?"

He lifted his right hand, examining the nails that were in pristine condition as if they required all the attention he could give them. "Hmm? Oh, that princess. Remind me, what was her name again?"

"Hiyama Miki," ground out the goddess with the body of a fifteen-year old. "Why did you not shoot her?"

Piko snapped his fingers, as if he had just remembered. "That's right! I was supposed to shoot her with one of my golden arrows and make her fall in love!" he smiled brilliantly. "Now, why did I not do that like you so politely ordered me to?" Piko questioned himself, ignoring the fuming goddess. He began to trace the wood of his intricately-carved lounging chair, murmuring possible ideas as suggestions. "Boredom? Annoyance? Sadness at the small pay? Anger at missing that play dedicated to me? I heard it was rather fantastic."

"Piko…."

He ignored her, fingers running down the grooves of the rosewood. "Sore finger? Death of a friend? Cold feet? Rebellious feelings?"

"_Piko_."

Inwardly the god of love smiled but continued on, waiting for the explosion of her suppressed anger. "Saw a mirror that showed my face as less-than-perfect? Very likely, you know. Those wind gods can be such irresponsible people, and my poor, beautiful hair suffers so at their-"

"Utatane Piko, would you _shut up_?!"

"Tut-tut," Piko waved a finger at her in a condescending manner. "Such tempers, Iroha, will lead you to live a single life for all eternity, and as the god responsible for love, I can't allow such a terrible fate."

"Stay _out_ of my love-life, pigeon boy, and tell me why you didn't shoot the princess and came back as this!" she exclaimed, gesturing to his body.

"No, thank you," Piko flashed the angelic smirk he had perfected in the course of two hours. "Now, please leave me to my magnificent self."

It may have been said with the utmost friendliness and joking ease but the meaning was clear; leave my territory. Nekomura Iroha had no choice but to exit the premises of the love god, lest she be smote by the Primordial Forces.

Piko leaned back into the cushioned seat, closing his eyes and letting the girl's face float in his mind again.

Or he tried to anyways. "Milord," Luna's voice called quietly. "Lord Kagamine has come to visit."

He opened his green eye in irritation. "Let him in," he ordered. After that one incident where he'd nearly ruined his relationship with his sister he owed the blond god quite a lot, something Len would _always_ use against him.

At his approval the sunlight bent around itself, shining brightly in a patch of golden light before forming a humanoid form. Solidifying, the light shifted into a blond man with blue eyes, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. Kagamine Len. Sometimes his best friend . . . sometimes his worst enemy.

"So it's true," his friend said, eyeing him critically. "You really have taken the form of a man."

Piko and Len had a friend-enemy friendship. They were both competitive, their natures rather similar to each other's where both wanted to be the best and as they were both archer gods the world often found itself peppered with arrows. Often at these competition, Len would 'degrade' himself (in his words) enough to take the appearance of a fourteen year old to make it fair.

But now both were in the prime of their youths. Both had the body of a strong, young Alpha male, lean and tense with hardened muscles. The competitiveness was at its max.

"Get to the point, Kagamine," he snapped.

Len sat down next to the pool, tracing the water with his fingertips. The spirit within must have been pleased at the attention of the god because the water shivered. Piko scowled.

"I saw that girl of yours," he informed him carelessly. "Very beautiful. Good taste you have."

That girl of yours. Very beautiful. Good taste. Like she was nothing but an ox at the market, or a bolt of silk. That off-hand tone of voice angered him so much Piko didn't even think; he just saw red in his vision and when that haze cleared he found himself pinning Len to the wall with one fist swung back, ready to pummel his friend.

"I'm complimenting you!" Len yelled, trying to calm Piko down. Now that he thought about it, with the reputation he had with mortal lovers . . . no, it wasn't much of a compliment.

"If you touch her," Piko snarled. "If you so much as even _touch_ her, I'll rip you to shreds!"

"I wouldn't touch her!" Len choked out, fingers scrabbling at the hand nearly crushing his throat. Even for immortals pain was something they wished to avoid. _Especially_ because they were immortals they wanted to avoid pain because no matter how much it hurt they just couldn't die. You had to live with it. "I swear on Yuma's throne!"

Despite the solemn oath it still took some time for the importance of the words to break through his rage and release the other god. Len winced and rubbed at his throat. "Is this any way to treat someone who brought you good news?"

"If that was the good news Kagamine, then I want you out of here," Piko told him, leaning back in his chair again.

Len snapped his fingers and the light bent to create a chair for him. Sitting at his golden seat Len handed Piko a scroll. "My Oracle just gave a prophecy about your princess."

He snatched it out of his hand. "This had better not be a prank, Len," he warned him.

"Would I do that kind of thing to you?" Len asked innocently. _Far_ too innocently.

"Yes," Piko answered without hesitation but he unrolled the scroll anyways. And then, after reading it, he let it go up in flames.

"Wha-?" Len frowned. "Why did you do that?"

"Excuse me while I go shoot your Oracle with a love arrow for every single male that comes into your temple."

"No!" Blue eyes widening, he reached out and grabbed his wrist. "You misinterpreted it!"

"_How_," he ground out. "Do I misinterpret something clear as that?! _Your_ stupid fortune teller just got _my_ princess forcibly engaged to some random _stranger_!"

"_Mountain to the south that bears nothing in its soils,_" Len recited from memory. "Doesn't that sound an awful lot like Mount Pikochu?"

Piko blinked, and he realized that the mountain in the given prophecy did, in fact, describe the mountain named after his sacred animal.**

"So now, she's engaged to _you_!" Len continued, his grip on Piko's arm still strong. "Not some random stranger! See, it's a good thing!"

"You sure?"

"Positive," Len promised, and released Piko. "Now go to your temple on Mount Pikochu."

Piko didn't need to be told twice. His wings flapped and he leapt into the air, bombarding the ground – and Len – with powerful throes of air.

The sun god watched, and then he, too, left, dissolving into the sunlight. The pool rippled, and the servants cleaned up after the two gods, straightening furniture and flowers.

* * *

King Kiyoteru was not happy, to say the least. He had always promised his daughter that she would get some say in her marriage partner, unlike most of the other maidens, unless they were in an emergency.

This was an emergency. Therefore, he could not keep his promise.

Somehow, word of the prophecy had spread, despite their efforts to keep it quiet, and now the entire country looked as if they would revolt, all demanding that the princess be given to whatever waited for her.

So at the side of his daughter when she was in the wedding litter, decorated with silk, flowers, and jewels, ready to be carried by handsome youths, no one was smiling. Rather, everyone looked like they were at the funeral of someone dear to them, ready to burst into tears at the smallest thing.

Queen Meiko tried to put on a brave front, smoothing out already perfect red hair and constantly kissing Miki's cheeks and forehead, holding her hand so tightly that the blood couldn't have possibly passed properly. She was too numb to care.

The king made a shooing gesture, silently telling the carriers to back up a bit. They obliged all too gladly, fearing that the princess, beautiful as she was, might have had a curse on her.

"Miki," he whispered. "You once asked me just why I never shed any tears."

This was back when her father's arm had been injured in an assassination attempt, and even through what must have been excruciating pain, he had managed to laugh and joke, playing chess with his wife and daughter while the surgeon stitched up the wound. Everyone but the king had turned away from the surgery, wincing and shedding tears at the sight. The healer spread the word about the king's iron will through the country and the assassins were caught and executed. Miki hadn't thought about it in a long time, with the country doing well, but she remembered it like it was yesterday.

"And I told you that the place of a king does not allow one to shed tears," he continued, a bit more urgently.

She nodded again, guessing what would come next.

"But it hurts too much for me to bear it on my own," his words were the same as before. "Would you cry for me instead?"

Back when she had been young Miki had cried for hours, until the king had thanked her for her excellent weeping. Now, tears welled in her eyes before streaming down her face. That broke whatever restraint the queen had been putting on, and she too began to sob. Only the king remained dry faced, but his eyes were glistening.

"If I could," her father promised, wiping their tears with large hands. "If there was anything I could have done, Miki, please know that-" he choked off to a halt.

She nodded, afraid that speaking would ruin her resolve. "I love you," she still managed out.

"And we love you," her mother promised, before a fresh wave of tears poured down her face. Her brave, kind mother, and her strong, powerful father, both so helpless.

One of the priestesses from the temple came over. "It is time," she informed them, and the carriers gingerly reached forward, grabbing the handles of the litter.

They began to make their way up the mountain, steady and surefooted to ensure that the person inside the litter would not be shaken or dislodged by any random, erratic movements.

Inside, hidden by the silk and the flowers, the princess was still crying.

* * *

At the top of the mountain, the wedding process all but dumped the litter at the flattest surface they could find, and then ran back the way, terrified to face whatever may have come. Miki stayed inside, drying her tears. She had often wished for privacy in the castle where almost all eyes were on her, but now, when she had it, it wasn't what she had quite desired. Perhaps the Fates were punishing her.

"Princess?" she tensed at the male voice. The bright silk curtains shifted, and she saw a man with red hair, slightly more pink than hers, smiling with friendliness.

"Please, don't be scared," he said softly, and hearing his voice, Miki thought of the winds as they ran by stone walls and through branches of trees. "I am Kasane Ted, Lord of the West Wind."

He extended a hand, and gingerly, she took it. He carefully pulled her up, and out of the litter. "I was sent to escort you to your husband," he explained. "Please, hold on tight."

Before Miki could ask what he meant the winds wrapped around them, forming a curious sensation of being bundled up in nothing and something at the same time. They lifted into the air, and she watched, awestruck, as they flew over to the other side of the bare mountain, until they landed at a small clearing.

"There's nothing here," she said, unable to help herself from stating the obvious.

"Focus," his breezy voice whispered. "And look again."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but Miki strained her eyes, and tried to see.

At her efforts a palace faded into her view. It was, she noted, a small palace, but there was no denying the fine architecture, or the richness the building clearly had.

"Your new home," Ted pulled on her arm gently, leading her to the entrance. "Please, enjoy."

Miki turned to the redhead. "You're leaving?"

He gave her a soft smile. "My duty ends at the door," he bowed deeply, and faded away.

So that would mean that she could either wait outside the door forever . . . or go in.

Almost politely, despite being an inanimate object, the double doors opened slowly for her.

Not feeling particularly foolish, Miki thanked them as she walked in. Past the polite double doors, marble floors, pillars with graceful arches, silk tapestries with stunning details and flowers, fresh and everywhere, greeted her with kind silence.

One flower, she didn't recognize. Hesitantly she stepped forward to the plant in the small decorated pot, the one with small white blossoms amongst deep green leaves. She bent down a bit and took a sniff. Such a sweet smell . . . and the petals looked pure as the substance called snow that would fall from the skies in the colder regions up north. She had seen it once on a royal visit, and liked it very much, even if it melted away quickly in the presence of heat.

"What kind of flower is this?" Miki wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.

"Gardenia," came an off-hand answer. Miki whirled around, shocked, and was met with the sight of the silver-haired man from that time when she'd been nearly scared to death during the middle of the night. She'd only seen him in the dark of the night, illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the open window, but it was hard to forget him, considering just how often she had seen him in that tapestry. "Even if they're not considered manly, I like flowers."

Miki looked at the silver-winged man. Then down at the palace floor. Then at the flowers.

Then she fainted.

* * *

He caught her before she crumpled on the floor, because – and he spoke from experience – marble floors hurt. A lot.

"Okay, so this was a bad idea," he admitted to no one in particular as he set her down. "What now, Len?"

It was meant to be a sarcastic comment. Meant to just relieve the stress by implicitly blaming the frustration he was feeling at being forced into love by one of his own arrows onto the sun god. He loved her but that was because of the extremely powerful influence of his special arrow. Until he could get a way to undo that magic, he was going to be extremely possessive of her. Brilliant. A slave because of his own doing. No one would have blamed him for being snarky and wanting to lash out.

It was not meant to be an invitation to the damn sun god who thought he had full immunity to everything. "It's not my fault if she found you so ugly she lost consciousness," he snickered as he twisted into being from sunlight.

"As soon as my next pure-love essence arrow comes in, I am shooting that right into your heart the moment you look at your sister. Then, I will shoot the pure-hate essence into your sister's heart while _she_ looks at _you_. You will spend a decade suffering," Piko promised, though he didn't swear on Yuma's throne or Miriam's River.

Len paled. "You wouldn't."

"I would. And more. Now leave before I decide to make it an official promise."

His friend did so, recognizing which battles he was destined to be destroyed in. Piko sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I should have just stayed home."

* * *

Miki woke up to a soft voice humming a song of some sort. Well, that was a nice surprise to wake up to.

She opened her eyes to see the silver-haired stranger, and remembered just why she had been unconscious. Was _this_ a nice surprise to wake up to?

Before she could quite make up her mind on her opinion the man raised his empty hands, a clear 'I-won't-hurt-you' sign. "Look," he said once he put his hands down – slowly, like she was a frightened animal he didn't want to scare into running away – "I'm not going to hurt you."

Miki found that easy to believe. After all, sincerity radiated from every pore of his body, and his words. "I believe you."

"Really?" When she nodded he visibly relaxed. "Thank you. That made everything much easier."

"Glad I was of help," she nodded, pulling herself up to a straight-backed, sitting position. "Would you mind-?" she began asking, the exact moment the man had begun to speak. "Let's start with-."

They both cut themselves off. Miki nearly ripped her hair out. Her mother had taught her better political talk than this! "How about you talk, and then I ask questions?" she suggested.

He blinked his odd, mismatching eyes. "Very well."

And talk he did. Miki had to bite down on her lips several times to stop herself from opening her mouth and just blurt out random words brought on by some of the things he said.

When the stranger – Piko – came to a finish on his story, she stopped biting her lower lips, and the first question that came out into the world was; "You're a god?"

The very thing he'd been telling her this whole time. If it had been her in his shoes she thought that she would have been really annoyed at how this person hadn't really been listening, but Piko seemed to understand that it was her amazement speaking, not her actual mind. "I am," he nodded. His wings slowly flapped once behind him, letting the fading red light of the setting sun glint off the silvery edges.

"And-" she scrunched her fists here. Okay, here was the awkward part. "You're in love with me."

Piko didn't seem to have any problems with coming out with that. "I am," he acknowledged, meeting her eyes. She looked away, just a bit uncomfortable at how jewel-like they seemed, so shiny and valuable and beautiful. . . .

"So am I supposed to - what do I do here - why did you – argh!" her mother would definitely have not been impressed with her diplomacy at the moment. "What am I supposed to do here?" she decided on that at last."

He gestured at a chair near her. "Rest?"

Temporarily forgetting that he was a god capable of destroying her Miki glowered at him. "That's not what I meant!"

Piko tipped his head to the side, examining her like a bored child would do. Somehow his look made her feel just a bit different than a curious child's would. Maybe it was the eyes . . . yeah. . . . "Would it be that bad to stay with me here?" he asked, sounding like he was genuinely sad at the idea of her leaving.

Miki had heard stories of gods. How they, despite looking like the most beautiful of humans, were terribly cruel because of their immortality, their power. How mortals were naught but pets to their pleasure-filled eternal lives. "I don't know," she answered. "But I don't really have a choice. I was sent here for you, apparently, unless there's another man of uncommon birth living here I need to be marrying."

"You," Piko began to step closer and closer to her. "Make," a few steps around her, his voice coming closer and closer. "It sound like," Miki flinched when he breathed out right next to her ear. "It's such a bad thing, marrying me," that last part was a purr.

"I don't know you very well?" she squeaked. But it just didn't matter in the end, because she was a princess that was supposed to have gotten married off anyways. This was probably a burden off her father's advisors, who were always trying to tie her off to some man.

"Believe me when I say that there are certain types of love that are just like _that_," he muttered into her ear, snapping his fingers with a loud click. Now, though, his voice had lost that extreme attractiveness and had changed into one that belonged to a work-weary man. "Fiery, spontaneous, and a whirlwind of passion."

Miki grabbed the previously offered chair and pushed it a bit closer to him before sitting in the surprisingly comfortable seat. "Do they last long?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. A few get their happy endings."

"And others?"

His lips twisted in what could have been a grimace or a smile. "They die tragically, or fall out of love."

"Oh," she squirmed, looking down at her wriggling toes. It was a habit she had never managed to fix. "That's . . . interesting."

"No it's not."

"It is," she insisted, and deep inside, she was a bit taken-aback at just how true that was. Here was someone who could be counted on to know everything about a certain subject. Love wasn't exactly the subject she and her mother discussed often, but it was better than nothing. "Really."

Piko looked at her oddly. "Are you tired?" he asked at last.

Miki would have denied it, but a huge yawn split her denial into half. "Yes," she admitted.

"Bedroom's the one with the double doors. Get some sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow, alright?" he gave a hesitantly tender smile to her. The love god, awkward with his love. Interesting. "Good night."

"Good night," she hesitated a bit before practically fleeing to her bedroom.

* * *

Footnotes:

*The prophecies that I used to read when I was young were in short words, just telling them to go to a place of acorns or something like that. I wasn't going to make it PJO style, because... well, I fail at poetry.

**Because his voice provider's mascot… well, you get the idea.


	2. Love Madness

**2. Love Madness**

**Summary:** The doctors back in Crypton Asylum would later talk about the missing Dr. Hiyama and say that she had a bad boy complex.

**Theme used:** the usual doctor-falls-in-love-with-the-patient.

**A/N:** Inspired by Batman, specifically the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Which means I don't own anything. As usual. The ending has been left open ended on purpose and further explanations are at the end to avoid spoilers.

**Posted:** 11/03/2013

**Word Count by Microsoft:** 5,955

* * *

Her red hair was pinned back into a neat, professional bun. Not a single strand of hair was out of place and they would stay where they were supposed to for a few hours, held there by hairspray and hairpins.

_'. . . if uncle wasn't there and if it weren't for the fact that I owed him so much . . .'_

Makeup? Decent, subtle and again, professional. She looked ready for business, not a party. That would make a good first impression on most employees and she hoped that her new fellow coworkers would be of the same opinions.

_'. . . fifty percent of the doctors there die. Painfully. Murdered by the patients. In what _world_ is this a good idea?'_

Her blouse was clean, ironed and white. The collar was stiff and it wouldn't have looked out of place at a conference.

_'But uncle survived for twenty years and he really needs me there . . . .'_

She pulled on the white lab coat and tucked the mandatory glasses in the breast pocket. Her eyesight was a perfect twenty-twenty, but the spectacles – without actual prescription lenses set in them – were meant solely for protection against a few of the inmates.

Miki Hiyama looked into the bathroom mirror and tried to convince herself that everything would be fine.

"See you, SeeU," she waved to her cat with the fluffy golden fur before leaving her apartment.

First day at work. Yay.

* * *

She had experience working with the mentally unstable – five years at the Mikuo Hatsune Institute as a decent doctor with a spotless record – but the Crypton Asylum for the Supernatural Criminally Insane was, to put it nicely, a place filled with irreparable whackjobs. The insane criminals put in there weren't normal; that is to say, they had superpowers. Only unlike the world's superheroes these people used them for the side of 'evil'.

Miki had a hard time believing in evil. Yes, the sociopaths and the psychopaths had been creepy with their eyes without any remorse within them, but their conditions were due to their mental issues. Abuse in childhood, something gone wrong with their brain during fetal stages, things like that. Evil was something that didn't exist in her opinion.

Her uncle knew about her views, which was why he had asked for her help at his job. "Miki," Dr. Kiyoteru Hiyama, record holding doctor for longest time spent working in the Crypton Asylum for the Supernatural Criminally Insane, rumoured to be the evillest place on earth and her father's brother gave her a hug. Enveloped by his arms she smelt the familiar odd mingled scent of coffee and exhaustion on him. He released her and she could see the bags under his eyes had gotten darker than they had been on Thursday. "Glad to see you. How have you been?"

"Good," she answered. "So, what do I do?"

Uncle Kiyoteru smiled at her. "Always enthusiastic. Just like your father."

She nodded and waited for him to continue, ignoring the reminder of her deceased father.

"Well, I'll be here for today, but I'll be wrapping up the last mountain of paperwork on my desk. I've arranged for one of my colleagues to give you a tour around the place, as well as a talk on what to expect."

"And that's it?" she had been expecting more, like how to best talk to the patients, what kind of things to expect . . . usually, her uncle was much more thorough than this.

Her uncle gave a small shrug. "Meiko specifically warned me to leave you, and I quote, 'a blank slate that hasn't been impressed yet'. She's been here for quite a long time as well. You're in good hands."

Since he was supposed to go away for a conference taking place halfway around the world for a month's time Miki could only hope that the person he had chosen could keep her alive till he came back. She couldn't really deny him this break; he'd all but raised her single-handedly while balancing a full-time job. He deserved this vacation more than ever.

Her uncle's definition of 'good hands' turned out to be a woman roughly around her uncle's age with short brown hair and a charismatic personality. "Nice to meet you," she reached out and gave Miki a firm handshake. "I'm Dr. Sakine, and I have just been asked by Dr. Hiyama to show you around and get you used to this hellhole."

Miki was a bit surprised at the choice of words used to describe this place, but she held her tongue. Some people just didn't like their jobs, and with the reputation this place had she couldn't blame her.

"At the moment, we have ninety three patients in our establishment," Dr. Sakine began as she walked over to the hallways stretching east. "That is the largest it has been since 1989 when the Hero League had their Headquarters in Crypton City for that year. Mind you, the numbers will shrink soon when some of them make their breakout."

She was used to seeing news of breakouts from Crypton Asylum in the papers, but the casual way the older woman talked about it so matter-of-factly threw her off a bit. This was on an entirely different level from the one she had been expecting. "The patients," she began. "They, er . . . ."

"Kill?" Dr. Sakine stopped abruptly and turned around with her hands on her hips. "Why yes, doctor, they do. Ever since I first started to work here – that's fifteen years ago – twelve doctors, seventeen nurses and forty guards have been killed on duty, never mind the ones killed outside of work by the escaped patients, as well as the ones attacked by families and friends of victims."

Her uncle had already warned her about the ridiculously high risks and chances of death.

"But someone's got to do the job," Dr. Sakine said grimly. "Those bigwigs up there with their fancy talks and idealistic promises don't know anything about the kinds of people down here."

Essentially what her uncle said, minus the desperation in his voice when he had called to ask her to do this. "Fifteen years is rather impressive," she offered weakly.

Dr. Sakine gave an impassive shrug. "They like me. They like your uncle as well, which is why he's still alive. You don't last long if they don't like you."

Miki nodded, showing that she understood the message. The brown-haired doctor began her walking and talking from where she left off. "I'm sure you've heard about our patients. Care to name a few?"

Her eyes rolled upwards as she dug in her memory, a habit left over from a nervous childhood. "The Mirror Twins," she said immediately, thinking of the infamous torture killers. Other frequent stars of newspaper front pages came to mind and she blurted them out as she remembered. "The Green Lord, Silence, Chimera, Princess Sandman . . . ."

"All the famous ones," Dr. Sakine concluded briskly. "During work hours I advise you don't refer to them by their titles. Call them by their real names. Most of the time hearing their birth names gives them the illusion of being closer to you, which may make them like you more. When they're addressed by their titles, they distance themselves from what few neat things we've been able to teach them. I must tell you, you won't be assigned the ones you listed till you have at least five years of experience under your belt. You'll start with the milder ones."

She was perfectly fine with that. She knew that in this place she was vulnerable. Fresh meat. The arrangement suited her.

What she wasn't perfectly fine with, however, was the sight of all the mentally unstable in matching orange jumpsuits sitting outside in a plaza filled with colourful plastic picnic tables – of all the things in the world – eating their meal. Yes, the eating plaza filled with the supernaturally insane criminals in orange jumpsuits and tables fit for five year olds were separated from them by a wire link fence. No, the fence did not make her feel safe from said supernaturally insane criminals in orange jumpsuits and tables fit for five year olds in any possible way. "Is that . . ."

"An idea proposed by our lovely bigwigs up in office? Why, yes it is!" the doctor walked closer and some of the patients saw her.

"Hey, Dr. Sakine!" Miki tried not to gawk as the Mirror Twins waved to the doctor – and by default her – with identical power-inhibiting collars wrapped around their necks.

"Good morning, Mr. and Ms. Kagamine," she replied smoothly.

"Morning, Doc!" a man with green hair that clashed hideously with the orange clothes he was in chirped. The Green Lord. Oh, my.

Dr. Sakine didn't even blink. "Good morning, Mr. Megpoid."

The man she had a hard time recognizing as the Silence looked up with blank eyes. ". . ."

"Good morning, Mr. Hibiki."

Miki had to admit; she was impressed at just how casually Dr. Sakine treated all of them. One of the patients even waltzed up close to the fence. "Hey, Dr. Sakine," a pink-haired man identified as 'L. Megurine' by his orange jumpsuit leaned on the fence, fingers gripping onto the wire. "Who's the kid?" he asked, gesturing with his chin at her.

"This, Mr. Megurine, is Dr. Hiyama."

Megurine blinked his ice blue eyes and looked her up and down. "Well then, our doc's cross-dressing," he declared. "Have to admit, he's much prettier like this."

Another man came up to the fence. "That's why they call you a dumb piece of shit," the newcomer with silver hair and mismatched eyes muttered. His name, embroidered in black thread on the breast of his bright orange clothes was 'Utatane'.

Miki felt a jolt go through her body when Utatane made direct eye contact with her. Those eyes . . . . They felt like they were reaching out and digging into her brain, searching for secrets within her. She wanted to look away from him and curl up, but she couldn't even blink.

It was single-handedly both the most terrifying and exhilarating thing she had ever experienced. The closest feeling she could compare this to was being on a rollercoaster speeding down a drop so steep it was practically vertical. Like pressure coming down at her from everywhere adding onto the feeling of adrenaline pumping all over her body.

Dr. Sakine stepped in front of her, breaking whatever spell he had been casting on her by shielding her from the sight of his eyes. She found that her eyelids were capable of moving again, and gladly exercised her regained ability to blink furiously. Had it only been a second? It had definitely been unsettling.

Utatane turned away to face Megurine again as the pink-haired man tried to defend his estimated brain capability. "I'm joking."

"Really."

"I'll leave you two to your debate," Dr. Sakine concluded before beginning to walk away. Miki glanced at the two one last time before following.

"You don't want to look into his eyes," the doctor warned as they stepped back inside the building. "Utatane's a hypnotizer."

Miki grabbed her glasses and put them on. The lenses, while not actually correcting her (already perfect) vision, _did_ protect her mind from such manipulative powers. Fat lot of good they'd do her while she was away from the socializing, mind-controlling criminals. She mentally berated herself for the carelessness as she asked her guide a question. "What was his villain identity?"

"Galahad."

She had never heard of him.

* * *

Miki may have never heard of a super villain hypnotist who called himself 'Galahad' but she definitely remembered the silver haired prisoner with hypnotizing eyes when she received his file the next day. "Your first patient here," Dr. Sakine's eyes softened in pity. "Good luck."

She took it with a quietly spoken thanks and opened the file on her new desk. The mug shot of the silver haired man with the different coloured eyes stared back at her impassively. Miki put the photo away before delving into his profile.

_Name: Piko Utatane_

_Known Aliases: Galahad, Kane Pitt_

_Date of Birth: December 8th, 1982_

_Height: 177cm_

_Weight: 59kg_

_Strengths: Has the ability to hypnotize people with eyes and occasionally voice. Physical strength is not on level of supernatural but he is in excellent condition. Black belt in karate._

_Arrested: January 5th, 2013_

_Arrests Prior: 7_

_Escapes: 7_

_Registered Cases: 10_

_Cases of suspected of involvement: 250_

Her eyes widened at the large number of suspected cases where he was involved. No wonder she hadn't heard of him. If someone was suspected that many times the newspapers would have given up on covering him after the first three or four accusations. No one wanted to read about someone being thought as a suspect over and over again, and certainly not two hundred and fifty times.

The small number of registered cases puzzled her. Why had he been sent to this place of all asylums?

Her question was answered when she flipped the page. The next few papers were all documents describing his ten known cases. One familiar, _famous_ name nearly made her spit out her coffee. She swallowed the caffeine filled drink and choked for a bit before recovering. She had thought Senator Nero Akita had been put in a coma because of a car accident on the way to a state dinner. Apparently it wasn't so.

By the end of reading about his modus operandi, she couldn't help but be thrilled in a frightened way. The man wiped the minds of his victims and left them an empty shell. Some even forgot how to breathe and died without knowing or understanding anything. She had never handled anything like this in her life.

The more scared part of her brain brought up that if this was a case they thought easy enough for a newbie, she would have hated to see who her uncle and Dr. Sakine had to deal with on a regular basis.

Oh, well. She was in the situation right now and there was nothing she could do to change it. Best to learn as much as possible about her patient before he came into the room. Best to enjoy the learning experience and live through.

The notes on him made by the previous doctors were neatly typed up – most likely by a secretary who could decode the cryptic scrawls all doctors possessed. Every single one of them – fifteen, written by five different doctors – warned her and all possible future psychiatrists for Prisoner Utatane about his eyes and his voice. 'You might as well as stab yourself with a pencil', one doctor had written. 'And gouge your eyes out.' The footnotes on that piece of paper added that some parts of the original comments made by the doctor had been edited for vulgarity.

She was in the process of putting that particular note into the back of the file where she wouldn't read it again when the buzzer made that hideous sound to warn her. She flinched a bit, but composed herself as two guards escorted her patient in. "Good afternoon, Mr. Utatane," she said when the guards had left after handcuffing him to the chair. "I'm Dr. Hiyama. We met yesterday."

Miki pushed the glasses further up her nose – how did her uncle bear wearing such uncomfortable things? – when he glanced at her. "What's your name?" he asked.

The standard response, to try and deflect attention back to the psychiatrist. At least there was something routine in every mentally unstable criminal, with or without superpowers. "I'm sorry, Mr. Utatane, but we're here to talk about you today, not me. Please, just call me Dr. Hiyama. It'll be easier."

"Easier?" He sighed like he was talking to a child who didn't understand anything. "The patients here," he drawled patiently, leaning on one armrest. He was speaking to her, but he didn't look directly at her. Rather, his mismatched eyes were directed at the grain of the wood on her desk like he found nature's pattern fascinating. "Are all used to _one_ Dr. Hiyama, and that's your uncle."

The hair on the back of her neck rose and she felt cold. No one had told him that Uncle Kiyoteru was related to her. The name gave away the knowledge that they were related, yes, but not the nature of their relationship. She could have been his sister, his daughter, maybe even his wife. All were perfectly good explanations, yet he had called him her uncle.

"We don't like being told to change, doctor," he murmured lazily. "Who knows how we'd react when we're told that 'Dr. Hiyama' isn't a man but a woman for us now? Granted, it _is_ for a month only, but like I said," he made eye contact, amused now. "We don't like change."

All her psychiatric training told her not to bend to his subtle threat. Dr. Sakine's advice – make them like you – said otherwise. Her survival sense agreed with Dr. Sakine, but even those two together weren't enough to go against the training hardwired into her brain. "But those are the rules . . . ." she gave a helpless shrug. They were, really. She had to be professional even if she was surrounded by a bunch of crazy psychos out for blood and sadistic torture.

He stared at her for a long time. "How about I call you Dr. Red?" he suggested at last, offering a compromise.

Anything to get a move on. She had to give a little to take a little. "Alright."

Piko Utatane seemed much more pleased after that. "Very well, Dr. Red," he leaned back in his seat and looked down at the table again. "What do you want to know about me?" he asked, the image of an honest open man. As honest and open as he could look in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, anyways.

"How about what you like to talk about?" she asked, wanting to take it easy for the first day. And for the rest of the session, till the buzzer that signalled the end of their time went off he talked about willow trees and gentle streams and she listened, taking notes and asking the very few necessary questions required.

"Good day, Dr. Red," he inclined his head and let himself be escorted out by the guards.

"Good day, Mr. Utatane," she tidied up her papers and waited till he was gone to leave the therapy room, knees knocking together with relief.

Dr. Sakine met her outside with an impressed look. "You handled that well."

"Really?"

"He rarely lasts the full hour," Dr. Sakine explained. "This is only the third time he's managed to fill the full session."

"What happened to the doctors in charge of the other two sessions?"

The brown-haired woman rolled her eyes. "_Doctor_. He had to go to an international conference for doctors studying nutjobs."

Ah. Her uncle. "Wait, he was handling Utatane?"

"He was being uncooperative. The man before had to get therapy for some unknown reason and no one else stepped up."

Ew, therapy. All psychiatrists hated having a therapist comb through their minds. They never agreed with the methods those amateurs used. She remembered the last time she had been forced to talk to a therapist. It had ended with a cup of coffee being thrown at her new white blouse. Miki didn't really feel like losing another silk blouse.

Still, he was her patient and as long as he didn't try to do anything to her or request a new doctor, she'd stick with him like chewed-up old gum on the underside of high school desks. Every day she walked into the room at one o'clock in the afternoon, talked to him for one hour and spent the rest of the day and the beginning of the next analyzing his mind. He wasn't particularly unsettling to her, though he constantly talked about swaying weeping willows and clear streams next to the trees.

After their fourth session together, Utatane paused on his way as the guards began to take him out. "Congratulations, doctor," he said in a partly sincere, partly mocking voice. He left without offering her any explanations. The guards probably knew what he was talking about, judging from their expressions, but they left with him and she couldn't really remember what they looked like. She didn't have a particular desire to track them down, either.

Miki chose to ask about it to another psychiatrist there. "What did he mean?" she asked when she finished explaining the reason for her curiosity.

Dr. Kaai smiled. Her new acquaintance was a woman with an extremely youthful countenance and delicate figure that all together could only be called 'cute'. Much like her appearance, she was sweet and sometimes childishly caring. "You're the first doctor to last more than three sessions with him."

"Is that really a good thing?"

"It is here," she gestured at the wall where the pictures of doctors hung. Under some of the pictures pieces of papers with writing scribbled on it hung, telling to all passing that so-and-so lasted some years here, or managed to make this patient do something. Things like that. "Everyone knows he's extremely picky and hard to work with. You'll be in the Hall of Records for that. 'First Doctor to last more than Three Sessions with Galahad'."

Indeed, the guards that had escorted the hypnotist back to his cell were coming towards them with a piece of paper in their hands right this moment.

Miki felt just a bit proud about her new achievement. Maybe Crypton wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

"I'd like to know why you wiped Senator Akita's mind and left him in a coma."

A week in her transfer to Crypton she asked about one of his few known cases. Utatane clearly didn't mind her presence and Crypton Asylum was desperate to show the bigwigs that they were making some progress in fear of yet another budget cut by the director board. She had decided to ask about the senator he had mind-wiped.

He raised one silver eyebrow at the newspaper's picture of the golden-haired politician before he was put in a comatose state. "He isn't my worst one."

"No," Miki agreed. "But I was curious."

With Utatane, she had learned, a bit of her personality had to be involved with this. He fed off personal touches and shrank away from any systemized ways, sometimes reacting harshly against them. Or so the notes had said about the latter. He had never reacted harshly against her. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

"Were you?" he looked right at her like he did when he was checking to see if she was lying or not.

"Yes," she answered honestly.

Utatane looked pleased and a bit flattered. He glanced at the picture of the blonde on the table and thought for some time. "He had one of the brightest minds I'd ever seen."

"Brightest minds?" this was new. None of the tapes from his past therapy sessions – and she had combed through them all back home as she tried to delve into his mind – had mentioned anything about bright minds.

He smirked half-heartedly. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me," she never could resist a dare.

The silver haired criminal looked at her with knowing eyes and began his explanation on how everyone's minds were different. Personal touches, unique features, that sort of thing. He, however, could also see the brightness of a mind. He didn't know what the brightness was for or what it meant, but he liked those minds. He liked them very much.

"I'd like to keep them," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Let them light up my darkness."

"Why? Do you have a dark mind?"

"Careful with your words, Red," he said mockingly. Utatane had ditched the title 'doctor' the previous session. "I might be extremely insulted because of the unwanted implications your statement had on my fragile mind, snap and cause a bloodbath."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Utatane," she apologized. Miki was sorrier to Dr. Sakine, who was probably tightening security and safety this very moment because of the statement, but she was able to channel the regret to her voice. He had worded his reasoning in a way that ensured her asking him the question, so he probably didn't mind it. "I didn't mean it that way." Whatever way _that_ was.

"I know."

She found herself smiling. He was like a kid sometimes. Threatening a bloodbath even if he had never been violent before . . . .

When their time was up she leaned forward, expecting his usual cryptic exit remark. "Well, Mr. Utatane," she sighed as the guards came in. "I'll see you . . . ."

"It's Piko," he grinned. "We're friends, aren't we? Friends don't call each other 'Mr. Utatane'."

And then he let himself be taken out by his guards.

* * *

Three days later she received a note from the offices informing her that her session with one Utatane, Piko had been changed to nine in the morning. Her afternoon session would be with another patient.

"I hope you don't mind the change," she said to him at their new time.

"Not at all," he hummed. "I was the one who requested it."

She shot him a confused glance and opened her mouth when a blood-curdling scream came from outside. Alarms began to ring shrilly and the red lights in the room blazed. The room's security doors, thick and strong steel controlled by the building's computer system closed over their exit. She jumped out of her seat and hurried over to examine the sudden appearance of the air-tight doors that could probably hold back a trigger-happy tank equipped with a flamethrower and several machine guns. Dr. Sakine had told her about this. Should a patient (or two or three or just all of them) escape their cells or guards the emergency lockdown system would activate immediately to save as many lives as possible. It was also a hopeful way of trying to keep their patients in the asylum. According to the eye-rolling female doctor, the system had never managed that part.

"It'll probably unlock within an hour," her patient assured her. "On the other hand, I don't think you'll get a chance to talk to Aquaria."

Her scheduled new patient had been Ring Suzune, also known as Aquaria, the hydrokinetic woman who was striking out at humanity for polluting water. Miki sat back down and chose not to ask just how he knew about her next case.

When the doors finally unlocked and the guards took him away, her patient – it was hard to call him 'Mr. Utatane' after his words last session and it was extremely unprofessional to call him by his first name – he gave a sideways tip of his head. "See you tomorrow, Miki."

She began to reconsider the idea of going to a therapist.

Dr. Sakine just gave her a new file with the information on a new patient. "Ms. Suzune and five others escaped," she said. "Two guards were stabbed. Take the rest of the day off."

* * *

Her second patient was an eccentric professor named William Stockley. He was nice enough, nearly harmless almost, if it weren't for his beliefs that technology had to replace all living things. Whether by changing life to cyborgs or killing all living organisms out he didn't seem to care.

"You'd be a lovely robot," he told her. "I can just imagine . . . SF-A2. What do you think?"

She thanked him but turned him down politely. After that particular session, she found herself wanting to take a nice, long bath where she could soak away all her troubles.

Saying her goodbyes she went home and found a bouquet of red roses waiting for her. It wasn't a mistake, since her name was on the card's section for the recipient. The sender was someone named 'Tate'. She didn't know a Tate.

Miki put the flowers in a SeeU-free vase and took her cherry-scented bath.

* * *

"You smell like cherries," the silver-haired hypnotist noted when he sat down in his seat. "Actually, you smell like a chemical that has been arranged in a laboratory to mimic the scent of a fruit identified as a cherry for the sole purpose of profit and convenience."

She had no idea if that was a compliment or not. "Will you tell me about your cases?"

"Am I your friend?" the silver-haired man – after his last words she couldn't call him Mr. Utatane or Piko, not even in the safety of her head – asked instead of answering.

"All the people in Crypton Asylum are your friends."

"That's not what I mean, Miki."

Under the desk, the fingernails of her left hand silently drummed impatiently against the skin of her thigh. "How do you know my name?" she asked, starting to feel a migraine come on again because of him and his mysterious ways of getting information. All the surveillance footages they had identified him in showed him alone. The only interactions he had were with the guards and maybe Megurine every now and then. It had been virtually impossible for him to know what he did yet he clearly possessed that information and Miki wanted to know how.

Maybe her head wasn't as safe as she had thought.

The man flashed her a very youthful grin. "I know everything about you."

Miki resisted the urge to shudder. There he was, doing this again. Give her the illusion that he was harmless and then strip her of those thoughts by showing his true self.

Yet she couldn't deny that his way wasn't interesting. While eerie, it was almost . . . refreshing for someone to know her so well. The traditional dance of getting acquainted hadn't been necessary for him.

She ditched the idea and got professional, trying yet again to make some headway.

At the end of yet another time-consuming yet not very productive session he dropped another set of final words, as usual. "You have one of the brightest minds I've ever seen."

To others, it may have been a compliment. To her, from him, after the justification he had given for the mind-wiping, it was a statement of terror. A hidden threat.

Dr. Sakine was there almost immediately after she heard about the situation. "Go home," she ordered. "You'll get a new patient tomorrow. I'll take Utatane."

"Thank you," she all but shoved the slightly wrinkled and worn file on the hypnotist into her bag and got into her car. No, wait. She didn't trust herself to drive. Miki got out and called a cab. Crypton Asylum didn't tow their employees' cars away and freeloaders valued their lives far too much to rest their cars here. She'd take another cab in the morning.

The taxi driver looked at her with wariness and suspicion, probably trying to see if he recognized her as a super-villain. She just sighed and gave him her address before getting in. Inside the car it smelt like stale cigarettes and the upholstery was filthy. Miki buckled up and kept her eyes out the window on the ride home. When they pulled up in front of the apartment building, she paid the man and went in where the doorman waved from his post at the lobby as she walked by him to get to the elevator.

Nothing for her in her mailbox. She unlocked the door and greeted her cat before taking off her coat and replacing it with a fuzzy bathrobe. Settling into her couch, she turned the television on. A rom-com, some kind of CSI show, the latest installment in a horror story that had been appearing recently . . . .

The action movie seemed like the best choice. "SeeU!" she called, wanting her cat. "Here, girl."

Her cat sniffed, but obliged. She sat in her lap and shot her a look, like she was saying 'fine, but only because I want to'. Cats were like that.

It was a nice movie. Her favorite actress starred in it with her fiancé and the storyline was decent enough – two rescue squads in need of rescue from within a collapsing building. Halfway through the movie they all got out of there and were rushed to the hospital.

"Incompetent people the government hires."

Miki stood up without remembering in time that SeeU was perched on her lap. The golden cat flew off with a screech of protest.

Her silver-haired patient sat on the other side of the couch with both his mismatched eyes totally focused on the screen. "It's the same with the police in Crypton City," he continued. "I honestly don't see how those tax monies are being used properly if they can't even stop criminals."

It took several tries, but she eventually managed to make her tongue move. "They do stop criminals _without_ superpowers."

"True," he acknowledged. He wasn't wearing the neon orange jumpsuit anymore. Somewhere along the way he had picked up a white shirt and a pair of jeans. "But I've seen more heroes taking down ordinary criminals than actual cops."

"I'll take your word for it," she sat back down. Maybe she could ask him a few gentle questions and he'd fall back into the routine. "What are you doing here?"

He took the remote and changed channels, surfing through her limited options on television until he settled on the evening news where an urgent news flash was going on about an escape from Crypton Asylum. One Piko Utatane, better known as Galahad, a criminal with the abilities to wipe and control minds with his eyes and voice had escaped after apprehending two nurses and three guards singlehandedly.

Why hadn't they informed her of this? Miki checked her cell phone. It was off, and wouldn't turn on even as she jammed her thumb at the power button. A slight whistle from his direction made her look at him. He was twirling the cell phone's battery in his fingers, flipping around like it was a square coin. "Catch," he tossed it at her and she managed to grab it before it fell to the ground.

"Thank you," she restored the power source back into her cell. The screen lit up, but it would take a few moments. By the time it was fully functioning he could have very well wiped her mind and besides there was no way he'd let her actually call for help. "And if I may ask again, what are you doing here?"

He gave her a vague smile but didn't meet her eyes. "Would you call me by my name?"

Miki knew she wasn't safe. He was crazy and even if he hadn't rejected her as his doctor in the asylum he was still very capable of hurting her. Interest wasn't the matter at the moment. Doing anything and everything to keep him calm, happy and docile was. Dr. Sakine would eventually realize that he'd most likely go after her. The sensible woman with the keen sense of survival probably already suspected it. "Piko."

Her mind's mental taboo on calling him by his name lifted like nothing had happened. It was almost a bit disappointing at the lack of drama. No lightning flashing, no trumpets from the heavens . . . .

But she did think that the name fit the silver-haired young man.

Piko smiled a real smile. "I always wanted to try this."

And then he leaned in and kissed her.

* * *

I had a lot of endings in mind. Miki getting mind-wiped and kept by a crazy Piko as his 'wife', Miki becoming a villain like Harley, Miki dying, all sorts.

In the end I chose to leave it open ended, partly because I wanted people to be able to choose their own ending and partly because everyone would hate me if I let her be mind wiped.


	3. Mistaken Identity

**3. Mistaken Identity**

**Summary:** Lost nametags are a pain. But that's how she met him. Of course, he thought that she was her cousin . . . .

**Theme used:** kids fall in love instantly. Or just a teen crush.

**A/N:** This uses a lot of MUN stuff (the basics shall be covered below) and as such, confusion may follow for those who don't know what's going on. It's okay. Just know that Miki and Piko like each other.

**Posted:** 27/06/2013

**Word Count by Microsoft:** 1,229

* * *

**_/a brief explanation and definition/_**

**MUN**: Model United Nations, where kids go and roleplay as delegates from nations. Keeping the actual foreign policies in mind, they debate issues presented by different committees and work together to come up with a solution.

A lot of times in conferences, they have these things called delegate socials. Basically a dance to work off frustration and stress. You're not _supposed_ to have alcohol or drugs, and because it's filled with kids who are concerned about global matters, it's _supposed_ to be clean and good and safe and all that.

To best delegates they normally give gavels.

**WTO**: **W**orld **T**rade **O**rganization. Deals with international trade stuff. Because of this, the resolutions often focus more on the profit rather than anything else. A committee in the UN.

**WHO**: **W**orld **H**ealth **O**rganization. Cares about international health. A committee in the UN.

**DISEC**: **D**isarmament and **I**nternational **Sec**urity. Pretty much the Security Council on a lower and weaker level (as in no veto power). A committee in the UN.

**Security Council**: Pretty much the big boss of the UN. Maintains international peace and security. Often called 'Hell' in MUN due to exclusiveness and intensity.

**UNESCO**: **U**nited **N**ations **E**ducational, **S**cientific and **C**ultural **O**rganization. Encourages collaboration and peace between countries through promoting education and respect. Often called 'hippies'. A committee in the UN.

**Status quo:** Means that the present state of things. If they say that they came to a resolution for status quo, they mean that they're going to leave things as they are.

* * *

"Fuck," she said out aloud. A few of the people close to her glanced her way, but the room was too filled with people and the loud, blasting sound of music for anyone to really hear her.

Huffing, Miki tossed a strand of red hair over her shoulder and shuffled the name tags in her hand. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve different nametags. All found dropped around the room on the floor, barely visible in the flashing rays of colourful light blinking to the beat of the loud music.

None of them were hers.

"Fuck!" she said a bit louder than before, mainly because she was frustrated and, okay, partly because she really wished someone would take notice of her dilemma and help fix it.

So she had a few damsel-in-distress moments. So sue her.

Miki shoved the rest of the nametags in her jean pockets, somehow making them all fit. Pant pockets were unfair. Girls could barely squeeze a piece of paper in them, and yet guys could make wallets, keys, switchblades, magazine clips and half of an island fit in their pockets easily.

Where the hell was her nametag? In the dance hall, she couldn't get out and come back in if she didn't have her nametag. And she really needed to get out right now, because she hadn't managed to sweat out the three cans of soda she had drunk over the last fifty-three minutes.

God, her bladder felt like it was going to burst, and the tight jeans she was wearing didn't help matters at all.

Yukari noticed her distress and came to her. Unfortunately, her solution was to put her mouth next to her ear and shriek, "COME DANCE!"

Wincing and rubbing her ear, Miki gestured to the general direction of the bathrooms and then her nametag-lacking shirt.

Yukari rolled her eyes and grabbed her hand. "COME ON."

Outside, her cousin dragged her out to the bathrooms using the side way. The admins who were supposed to be watching over didn't even glance their way.

Oh, wow, how responsible.

Her bladder relieved, Miki began to follow Yukari's lead and return to the dance hall when she caught sight of a white-haired boy around her age arguing with the execs that weren't doing such a good job of doing their jobs. It sounded like he was trying to convince them to give him a new nametag.

She patted her pockets. Five of them had been nametags belonging to guys, and two had been gender-neutral names. There was a pretty good chance that his was in her collection of lost nametags.

Her paranoia of being kicked out flared. What if they noticed that she was missing her nametag and picked on her?

"Give me your nametag," she ordered her cousin.

"What?" Yukari looked like she really wanted to get back to dancing.

"Give me," Miki repeated in a low voice, eyes still on the nametag debaters, "your nametag."

Yukari knew better than to argue. Swiftly unclipping her issued identification from her belt loop, she handed it to Miki before entering the ballroom to rejoin the dancing masses.

Miki clipped on the nametag before approaching the boy who looked pissed off now. "Hey," she called, digging out the found nametags. "Do you want to check if yours is here?"

He looked startled – she couldn't blame him. Random chick comes up and offers a bunch of identification.

But then his look turned grateful. "Yeah," he said, relieved. "I'd like that."

And then he shot the execs a look that said, 'this is the kind of stuff you should be doing.' They, of course, ignored him.

He flipped through the tags she offered, dismissing the ones that weren't his. From the discarded ones, she learnt that he wasn't Yohio Lloyd, Sweden for UNESCO, or Len Kagamine, Japan for WHO, or Antonio Zerog, UK for the Security Council.

He was, judging by his choice of identification, Piko Utatane, China for WTO.

"You don't find the WTO boring?" her incredulousness slipped out in her blurted question.

With his nametag clipped on, Piko looked considerably happier. "Not really," he answered. "I like the WTO."

"How? You talk about trade. _Trade_. And then the major countries always take the huge lead and it's boring when economically smaller countries who have to depend on larger countries can do nothing."

"Prior experience?"

"Switzerland," her answer was flat. "I literally doodled the entire three days and guess what resolution we passed?"

"Status quo?"

She nodded.

"Well, I find the WTO a fascinating committee to be in. It's the one place where we can actually care more about profit than things like human rights or lives."

"Wow. That's cold."

Piko shrugged. "Besides, I'm China. That means that I'm God in the WTO."

He had a point there.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around," he began to walk in again, ready to join the mass of human chaos and anarchy. "Thanks, Yukari."

_"What?" _

But he was already gone. Dismayed, Miki looked down to see her cousin's nametag. Yukari Yuzuki, Madagascar, DISEC.

He thought she was her cousin. Joy.

* * *

In the next evening, she caught a glimpse of Piko sitting near the front. He was easy enough to find thanks to his white hair. Ironic. Last night he had been impossible to find, even with the fact that his white hair should have been like a beacon of light in the dark.

He noticed her too, most likely because of her hair. He waved. Damn it, he was too far away for her to explain the whole mistaken nametag thing. Unless she wanted to take a page from her cousin's book and shout out the whole explanation to him.

Yeah, no. She just waved back.

Miki planned on explaining everything to him after the whole thing was over, if he was interested. He probably wasn't, but still, it was for the sake of the rest of her mind.

…

…

…

Okay, and he was really cute, too.

So she was planning on how the whole thing would go. If – and only if, she wasn't going to be desperate enough to go to him – he wanted to talk to her, she'd tell him about how she had to borrow Yukari's nametag to go to the bathroom so she could freshen up. Totally the truth.

Her well-laid out plans fell with a variable she hadn't been counting on – her smart, confident, MUN expert cousin.

"And the Best Delegate Award for DISEC goes to . . . Yukari Yuzuki, Madagascar!"

Piko turned to her, expectancy in his eyes. She shook her head and made an 'x' with her fingers. His face scrunched up with confusion – oh he really was cute – and her cousin walked up the space between all the chairs, got the gavel, smiled and waved to the applauding crowd before returning to her seat vibrating with smugness.

Miki wanted to strangle her.

At the end of the ceremony, she ended up going to him. "You left before I could tell you that I was using my cousin's nametag," she explained.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Awkward.

"_So_ . . . ."

"_So_ . . . ."

Definitely awkward.

"Do you have Facebook?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I'll friend you?"

"That would be nice. It's 'Miki Hiyama'."

"Right," he smiled at her. "I won't forget that."


	4. Transcending Lives

**4. Transcending Lives**

**Summary:** Even if the world must die, I'd still choose to free you.

**Theme used:** Reincarnation, time travel, immortality

**A/N:** Inspired by Maplestory (Neo-Tokyo), and Lee Sun Hee's 'Fate'.

**Posted:** 05/08/2013

**Word Count by Microsoft:** 1,707

* * *

"Brave, resilient Piko," the master sighs, age mingled with eternal wisdom. "I bestow upon thee thy talent and inheritance."

The azure light envelopes him, warm and comforting as a mother's embracing arms, and he stays illuminated by the glow of his mentor's talents as he moves onto the two other pupils that await their turns.

"Sweet, beautiful Miki, thy talents have power that doth not retrain thy free spirit. Thou shalt be as free as thy windy love."

He watches as their mentor moves onto Iroha.

"Wise, clever Iroha, thou hast always been a silent cat in thy habits and ways. Thou art willing to watch and observe, and thou shalt inherit mine power which will allow thee such ways forever."

* * *

His name is Peter Eurenth and he is a prince who has just managed to ditch his attendants in the long, tangled forests he knows. In this life he has never set foot in these woods before, but he walks them with the familiarity of someone who has grown up in them.

There – the familiar ancient, thousand-year old oak, strong and silent, a pillar of the sky with roots filling abysses in the solid dirt. Below the shades of the strong, twisting branches lie his love and his friend.

His friend sees him first. "Ah, Peter," Iroha greets him with his name in this life. The immortal girl, the same as she has been ever since their mentor's fade still retains her accent from times years past, but her words are tinted towards a more modern way.

His love leaps up from her spot, fiery as her hair. "Piko!"

She throws her arms around his neck enthusiastically. "How have thee faired?" her voice is breathless with excitement and quivering with love.

He holds her back. "Well, but me thinks that thou hast not seen mine likeliness for centuries of time," he replies, returning to his original life as Piko, one of the three students of the Great Man. Tis a memory he relives over and over again in any life, the only ones worth replaying in the ever-repeating cycle of reincarnation.

She looks up and pouts at him. Her garbs are of these times, most likely a kind courtesy of silent, watchful Iroha, but she still smells of the cherry blossoms she loves dancing under so. "But mine eyes have not," she says. She exaggerates so.

"And yet to you those times must have been but seconds."

They spend the rest of the day, talking and bickering and arguing like old friends. He does not let go of her hand once and she never protests it.

Iroha smiles, and her joy is pronounced rather awkwardly as if she has not had enough to grin about in recent times but she is clearly happy in their presence. Miki beams and constantly tosses her long red locks back, hitting him in the face.

And Peter – Piko – does not mind at all.

He returns after she leaves, hungry for more of the red hair like fire and the sweet smell of blossoms.

The next day, the attendants who were with the prince when he disappeared could not help but be relieved when it is revealed that the prince has killed himself.

His life is reset. The sooner the better.

* * *

He is a slave. They called him Punk and beat him and starve him.

It is not a good life. It is also a life many, a countless number must suffer through until the silent grasps of death takes them away.

It is a life that he, fortunately, does not have to suffer through until the promised times. Iroha, the witch who transcends time, saves him with his purchase. Despite his status as a low-life, she provides him with everything he needs or wants. Education he only needs the reminders, and his manners have been well-polished in many previous lives like a silver platter.

They decide that calling him Piko will do – after all, he has no official name in this life.

If Iroha had lovers, pupils or followers, they would have questioned the oddity of a child treated by her an equal. She does not have nor keep such company and they are left to their own devices.

When they walk to the forest on the night of his sixteenth birthday, the red-haired time traveller is already jumping into his arms. "I missed you," she whispers after a hungry kiss under the oak that has grown in their absence.

"And I missed you."

The next day she is gone, off to another time and another him.

Iroha forbids him from resetting his life via suicide and impatiently, he waits to die.

* * *

Duke Paris of the Tane family, brother to the Queen and uncle to the Crown Prince is not ambitious. He is tranquil, he seeks simple pleasures and renounces life at court. He is satisfied with the land containing the ancient forest and time alone.

The people at court all wonder why. They gossip, they whisper, they spit conjecture out through their richly painted mouths and paint possible pictures with the paint of rumours.

All except the court magician, who with light pink hair swaying joins him on one fine day in visiting their time-travelling friend.

"Stay with me," he begs her, unable to put up with the thought of her gone come tomorrow, "be my wife in this life and don't leave."

Miki laughs, her sound of mirth like silver bells crying in the wind. "Not in these times, my love."

"These are good times," he cries. "They are peaceful, and prosperous!"

Her countenance is etched with sadness when she kisses him, long and sweet as her scent of cherry blossoms. They linger but for a moment as she fades away, slipping into the streams of time once more.

When war comes a few years later and half the forest burns from the residue flames of battles for greed, he can't help but wonder if she researched every part of his life as he resets his once more.

* * *

He has been born into war and the flames still roar on like the sun, never seeming to end. It is residue from his past life as a duke – he now looks upon the consequences through the eyes of a critical, cynical Private.

Leaving the army without permission is a crime that will be punished by death, no exceptions.

He has never really feared death and the stakes are worth his life.

When Private Paul Utah stumbles into the clearing where a rotting stump of a once-magnificent, once-ancient three lies, he is met with a slow, sad hug. "I thought you wouldn't come," she says sadly.

He is about to reassure her – never, their love is one that transcends time and an infinite number of lives – when she continues on. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

He staggers back from her sweet embrace like it is poison. The memories of a hundred lives should have made him immune to much pain and yet her words are like a dagger digging cruelly into his chest.

"Don't misunderstand me, love," she says, no longer the maiden who received her time-leaping powers from the man who is now but a legend. "I love you just as I loved you when we were mere mortals, perhaps even more so – but this war, it could have been ended had you stayed. You would have gained much in status and power and been instrumental in ending all the conflict.

"Instead, because of me, you will die unfairly."

He silences her with a kiss. "I don't care about the rest of the world."

She does not say more about the matter.

Iroha lies in her usual spot, watching the stars in the night. If she hears her blank gold eyes do not show.

The next day he is executed for his disobedience.

* * *

There is no forest anymore. It is a burnt plain now, no trace of the grand oak or the cypresses or the small creeks or the animals that lumbered through peacefully.

He runs into it, not caring about the rumours of a ghost haunting the site of a battle so bloody it would be called a massacre. Eyewitnesses say that the ghost was a woman with piercing golden eyes and light pink hair. They say that she was searching for the corpse of her lover.

He knows better.

"Iroha!" he roars.

She materializes in front of him. "Yes?"

"Where is she?" he has not hit a woman in all of his life but he is close to it, dangerously close.

"It was her choice, Piko."

His original name makes him flinch. She almost always calls him by the name of his current life and while he has felt more like Piko than any other name it is different to hear it with her deep, mature voice, so contrary to her youthful appearance.

"I'm her lover!"

Her golden eyes gaze at him deeply. "Then you must respect her decisions."

He shakes his head, denying it. "Free her, Iroha," he orders. "She does not deserve to – to lie imprisoned away forever."

"It was her choice," she repeats firmly.

"To hell with that!"

"It was her sacrifice!"

He does strike her and would have done so again had it not been for the red mark his hit made upon her face. She is immortal. There should be no marks made upon her.

"What have you done, Iroha?"

She holds a hand to her reddening cheek and stands from her fallen state. "Only what needed to be done. I am no more immortal now, just as Miki cannot jump through the streams of time."

He feels bile rising in his throat. "Then you will eventually die."

She regards him coolly. "I will."

"But I will be reborn forever, and Miki will still exist when you are gone," he turns away. "I will free her, Iroha, mark my words."

"She loved the world nearly as much as she loved you, Piko," she calls after him. "She loved you too much to let you live in the world filled with such terribleness."

He doesn't stop walking. "I love her too much to let her make that sacrifice."

* * *

For those who don't understand what happened in the end: Miki saw with her time travelling powers that the world was going to end if she didn't do something, so she switched powers with Iroha and sealed off the alternate future using her new immortal powers. Piko didn't want her to be gone forever so he promised Iroha that he was going to free her no matter what she tried to do to stop him.


End file.
